Robin

by Julane Hiebert

  “This probably isn’t a fair question, but I’m going to ask it anyway. You want her to marry Ty, don’t you?”

  John’s big hand clamped his shoulder. “Don’t matter what I want. You two is so bent on decidin’ who gets to hitch up with that little gal you haven’t had sense enough to ask her who she wants. Now don’t ask me no more foolish questions. I’m tired and so are you. Ain’t nobody gonna bother that girl ’til Doc says they can, so ya might as well get some sleep.”

  William sat on the porch long after John went in. Lightning flashed behind a towering thunderhead, accompanied by a long roll of thunder. There was a storm brewing out on the prairie, but it couldn’t be any worse than the one churning in his gut.

  THIRTY-SIX

  “Where are my sisters, Emma? Why haven’t they been in today?” Robin pulled her gown closer. If only she could get dressed again. She didn’t like sitting around in nightclothes.

  Emma finished tucking the blanket around her legs. “Wren insisted on being taken to the Feather. She wanted to inspect it to make sure she had everything she needed before they brought you home.”

  “Did Uncle John take them?”

  Emma smiled. “Your Uncle John is sly as a fox. No—he made sure he was too busy, and gave Sam Mason that little work detail.”

  “Oh dear. Now what’s he up to, do you suppose?”

  “Think, Robin—only try your best to think like John Wenghold. What was the first thing he wanted to do when you arrived?”

  “Find me a husband?”

  Emma nodded.

  “But he wrote that silly notice. He was going to get one through advertising.”

  “Only because there was no one here for him to manipulate, other than Ty. And he did try that route, you know. Just didn’t give the man time enough to make up his own mind.”

  “Oh, poor Sam.” Robin laughed. Mercy, but it did feel good to laugh without her head pounding. “Did Lark go along? Her presence alone will probably stifle any notion of romance if Sam is so inclined. She’s hardly stepped foot outside this house, according to little sister.”

  “Lark is frightened, Robin.”

  “Of this prairie? These hills?”

  “No, I would expect that’s the least of her concerns. I think she’s afraid because she doesn’t know what will happen next. Where you will be. Where that will leave them. Where that will leave her. I think life in general scares her.”

  “But she knows the plan is for her to come here, too."

  “Was she that much different in Chicago, Robin? Did she have friends there? Did she ever go out on her own?”

  Robin shook her head. “I’d have to answer ‘no’ to all those questions. We were all excited when she accepted the position at the music school. It seems the one place she feels confident.”

  “And if and when she comes out here, she’ll leave that one place. She’s secure with her music. She knows what to expect of her students, and she knows that what she’s able to give them is what they need.”

  Emma opened the window by Robin’s chair. “I’ll make more of an effort to visit with her. Maybe ask her to help more. My mama used to make me dry the dishes, even after my Pa died and there was only the two of us. I could never understand it. The woman could bake bread, plant taters, and sew a dress all in the same afternoon. But she needed help with the dishes?”

  “I’d imagine she was tired by then.”

  “Nope. It wasn’t her being tired at all. She was wise. It took me lots of years to come to the full knowledge of that dish-drying time. See—that’s when we talked. I’d prattle away about everything and nothing, and she’d listen and smile and ever so often ask me a question to keep me going. I got so used to telling her all my little-girl troubles that by the time I was old enough to have real problems it wasn’t hard at all to keep right on talking.”

  “Papa was like that at our house," Robin said, touched at the memory. “We sisters tried hard to never upset Mama. But Papa would sit all night with a forkful of potatoes midair and regale us with tall tales or listen to us chatter. Then Mama would scold, ‘Lionel, either eat those potatoes or lay your fork on your plate. How will our daughters ever learn manners with you waving food like a flag.’”

  Emma laughed. “My George would have been like your papa, had God blessed us with children.” She wiped her eyes. “But you know, I just had a thought. There’s a piano sitting down in Ty’s parlor. Probably hasn’t had a note of music come out of it since Grace Morgan died. Maybe—”

  “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. And did you know Albert Harvey also has an interest in music? Do you suppose—?”

  “You leave it to me.” Emma patted Robin’s hands. “We’ll have a musicale to celebrate when you get well enough to come down the stairs. See—now it’s up to you.” She straightened the pillow on the bed. “But for now, Robin, we’ve kept poor William waiting long enough. He’s been propping up the wall in the hallway since Doc said he could see you. I think we best let the poor man in.”

  “Wait.” Robin reached for the older woman’s hand. “I’m scared, too.”

  Emma sat on the side of the bed and took both of Robin’s hands in hers. “And what frightens you most?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps the same things that weigh on Lark’s mind. What happens if I don’t get well? What will become of Jacob, of Wren and Lark? Uncle John can’t be expected to care for all of us if we aren’t able to contribute to the work.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “And will Ty or William either one want me if I become an invalid? William has a bank to run, and a wife would be expected to entertain, be active in the social community, volunteer for various causes. And Ty has this ranch and all that comes with it. I don’t think I even begin to realize what all that would include.”

  Emma leaned to embrace her. “Such big worries for such a little lady, Robin. But you’re trying to borrow what isn’t for loan—strength for tomorrow—before you’ve used up this day’s supply. And you know what? I have a feeling by the end of the day a whole lot of questions will be answered for you.” She gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Now, may I let William in?”

  Robin nodded. “Will you stay?”

  “No, sweetheart. There isn’t a man alive who wants an old widow lady hanging around while he’s trying to declare what’s on his mind. But I’ll be close by if you need me.” She winked and held the door for William.

  Robin’s lips quivered as she attempted to smile at her caller. Why was he dressed as a banker today? It made her uncomfortable, though this was the William she’d known in Chicago.

  He reached for her hands. “I never wanted my coming to be so awkward for you, Robin. But I think you know why I’m here.”

  She nodded. “I know what you stated in your letter, but I’m not sure that’s why you’re sitting here now.”

  “I need an answer, Robin. Your sister brought word from my father, requesting that I return home as soon as possible. I can’t . . .”

  “But I thought you were staying for a month. Is something wrong? Your mother’s not . . .”

  “No, everything is fine at home. It’s complicated. But I can’t leave without knowing if we are to have a future together.”

  “But I . . . we don’t know what will become of Jacob yet. I’m not well enough to travel. There’s so much we don’t know. How can I make a decision so soon?” If Emma thought William’s visit would answer questions, she was wrong. He’d only raised more.

  A frown settled between his eyes. “It’s not so soon, Robin. We’ve known one another since we were children. And you know my intentions. Surely you’ve had time to consider my offer.”

  “Is that what this is, William? An offer? A business proposition? Is that why you’re dressed in your suit?”

  He released her hands and stood. “My suit and all it represents is who I am, Robin, what I can give you. It’s assurance that you and your sisters will be cared for.”

  “And what will become of Jacob?”<
br />
  William turned to the window. “He has a grandfather and an uncle who will look after him.”

  “But he needs a mother and father.” Her heart thumped. How could she make him understand? She couldn’t leave Jacob. She couldn’t.

  “And will he have that if you stay?”

  She shrugged. “I . . . I can’t answer that. I would hope—”

  “You hope . . .” William dropped to his knees beside her. “And does that hope include Ty Morgan?” He cupped her chin in his hands. “Look at me. Do you love him?”

  She could hardly breathe. It was one thing to think about it. It was quite another to be forced to voice it.

  William kissed her hands. “Your silence screams at me. I think I knew before I asked. I just wasn’t sureyou did.”

  “Are you angry with me?”

  “No, my dear friend, but only if you’ll promise to be happy. Morgan doesn’t deserve you. But then, neither do I.”

  “What if he doesn’t love me in return?” She hadn’t meant to voice the question aloud, but there it was.

  “Oh, sweet Robin. I knew the first time I saw him look at you that he loved you. I just didn’t know how he was going to manage loving you with Miss Anna Blair in his life, too.

  She studied her hands folded in her lap. “If Anna were still in the picture, would that change your proposal to me? Do you truly love me, William, or did you make a promise to Papa to look after me?”

  He squeezed her hands. “What makes you think your papa asked me to look after you?”

  She laughed, recognizing his hedging for what it was. “Because I know my papa. I also knew when you proposed to me before Papa died that it was to bring comfort to him, not happiness to you. I love you for it, William. And I know marriage must be built on friendship, too. But I don’t want to be a project. No girl wants to settle for that when her life’s dream is to be loved for who she is alone.”

  He touched her face. “You need to know that I reached a turning point in my life while here. But believe me, you were never a project. Had you told me you loved me I would have found a way to make it work.”

  “That sounds so arduous—to make it work.”

  “Banking is my life. Believe it or not, I love the smell of Chicago as much as you’ve grown to love the scent of rain on this prairie. I look forward to putting on my crisp white shirts and stodgy ties, and walking, cane in hand, the few blocks to my office. And I would love walking home each evening knowing you were waiting for me.”

  “And I would hate it, and you would grow to resent a marriage based on a promise you made to a dying man. In retrospect, I think Papa would hate it, too. You know, you aren’t the only one he asked to look out for me. Perhaps he wanted me to have a choice. He often lamented I had so few opportunities. One day, according to him, the world will change and people who are different in the eyes of some, will be accepted in the eyes of many.”

  “You seem much more at peace with accepting yourself. No more kicking against the pricks so to speak.”

  “I blamed God for so long. I was angry and resentful because He didn’t answer my prayers the way I wanted. I decided if I didn’t get my way, then He wasn’t listening. Emma set me straight on that one. I’ve a ways to go, but I now realize He’s my friend and desires only my best. And His best and my idea of best might be worlds apart.”

  “Worlds apart like Chicago and Kansas?” He smiled at her.

  “Maybe.” She searched his face, no longer caring there were no signs of love written there. “Promise me we can still remain friends, William.”

  “Only if you promise to invite me to the wedding.” He kissed her on the nose. “Now my sweet, sweet little bird, I shall return to Chicago. But remember, I’m only a telegraph message away.”

  “You will always be much closer than that. There’s a special place in my heart with your name on it.” Her fingers tightened around his. It was scary to let go.

  ###

  The light coming through the crocheted curtains in Robin’s room cast lacy shadows dancing across the pale yellow walls. A slight breeze billowed them, like a hoop under a lady’s skirt. Robin folded her hands on her lap. It seemed such a long time ago that she’d worn a dress of any kind. Doc said another week before she could attempt walking alone, but only in the bedroom with Emma present. She hated that William’s last memory of her would, no doubt, be a contrast of his business suit and her cotton wrapper.

  The chatter of voices downstairs signaled her sisters’ return from the Feather, and she welcomed thethump, thump, thump of footsteps on the stairs. At last—someone to talk to. She closed her eyes and played the game which had become the one entertainment she was allowed—guess who’s coming? She’d wait until they entered to open her eyes and confirm her prediction. But this time she needn’t play. Even with all the stomping, Wren’s steps were as telling as her giggle.

  “Robin? Robin, are you awake?” Wren bustled through the open door and perched herself on the edge of the bed, arms folded across her chest. “That Sam Mason makes me so mad. Do you know what he did? I told him I was going to come right back here and tell you, but he said you weren’t his boss. Can you believe the nerve? Of course you’re his boss, and I told him just wait and see. And he just laughed. Do you know what he did?”

  Robin took a deep breath and willed Wren to take one, too. “No, I don’t know what he did, but I’m sure you would like to tell me. But, Wren, he’s right. I’mnot his boss. He answers to Ty Morgan or Rusty or Uncle John.”

  “All men, and what do they know about cleaning a house?”

  “You expected him to clean house at the Feather? It shouldn’t have taken much work, Wren. Except for a few dishes in the sink the day we came for the celebration, I left it clean and tidy. There hasn’t been anyone there except, perhaps, Uncle John."

  “Humph. You think Uncle John picks up after himself? There were dirty socks by his chair in the living room. Dirty socks in his bedroom and two pair under the kitchen table.”

  Robin giggled. “That’s all? Dirty socks? So what did you do, or say, to Sam Mason to get you in such a dither?”

  “I’m not in a dither. Mr. Mason is the one who got all steamed up, then he laughed at me when I”—she leaned to whisper—“fell on my bottom.”

  Robin put her hand to her mouth. This was not a good time to be amused, at least for Wren to see. “You fell? How? Did he trip you? Why are you so upset with Sam?”

  “He let go of the sock.”

  Robin chewed on her lower lip—hard. She might not be able to squelch this giggle. “And were youinthis sock? I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

  Wren stood, hands on hips. “Lark went upstairs to check the bedrooms for clean bedding, and Sam just stood there doing nothing, and I asked him why couldn’t he help instead of gawking, and he said he wasn’t gawking, but he didn’t know what to do, and I told him to look around, there was surely something he could find that needed picked up or put away.” She huffed before taking a deep breath.

  Robin held up a hand. “Slow down. Speak one sentence at a time, Wren. I’m listening, and I’m a captive audience. So you asked him to look for something to do? Did he?”

  “He was disgusting. He picked up one of Uncle John’s dirty socks and held it away from him as far as his arm would reach with one hand, and pinched his nose shut with the other, and he was smiling. I could see him smile. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘is this what you wanted me to do?’”

  “And?” There must be more to this story.

  “And I told him he needn’t be so smarty, and I grabbed to take the sock from him, only he wouldn’t let go, so I pulled harder, and he gave a yank, then let go and I . . . I fell on my bottom. And he laughed. He makes me so mad.” Wren fell to her knees, laid her head in Robin’s lap, and sobbed.

  Robin stroked her sister’s hair. “I think you’re more embarrassed than angry, Wren. And no doubt you’ve held in a whole lot of tears since your arrival. You go ahead and cry. I’ll ask Emma abou
t the socks. I’m wondering if Uncle John’s changed clothes at all.”

  Emma stepped into the room with an armload of folded laundry. “Well . . . Oh, I’m sorry to intrude. Is this a private conversation?”

  “No, Wren and Sam just had a little tussle. But Wren said John has dirty socks strung throughout his house. Do you think he’s even changed clothes since I was hurt?”

  Emma placed the stack of laundry on the bed. “I’ll put this away later.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “John has changed his clothes. I’ve made sure of that. I’ve done laundry here, and Sam Mason has helped, if you can believe that—”

  “I can’t believe it.” Wren’s muffled voice interrupted.

  “Wren, let her finish.”

  “I was going to say that John has gone home on occasion when you were still not with us.”

  Robin giggled. “So you think he just went home to change socks?”

  Emma shook her head. “No, no. That dear man has been nearly out of his mind with worry for you, Robin. You have to remember he’s been alone for a long time. I don’t think he ever thought he’d love you like he does. I suspect each pile of socks represents a place he sat and prayed. Don’t ask me why I think he took his socks off to do it.” She grinned. “Now, tell me about this tussle between Sam and Wren.”

  Robin relayed the story, grateful Wren couldn’t observe Emma’s face. “I think it might be a good idea for Wren to help you with dishes tonight. Perhaps she could dry them for you.”

  Emma nodded in understanding. “I would like that very much.” She stood and patted Wren’s back. “In fact, dearie, if you think you’ve had your cry, I could use your help right now.”

  Wren stood and wiped her eyes with the hem of her skirt. “Mama would fuss at me for doing this, wouldn’t she?”